Post by Deleted on Mar 23, 2013 19:11:46 GMT -6
“This is Drake Blake, and I’m sorry that I could not answer your call. I’m either free running, working out, or taking care of Patrick Jones. Most likely it’s the last one because he needs lots of help. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
That stupid voice mail message has been my only answer since the match. The repeated failures cause me to mutter, “Fuck,” under my breath as I try to find a way to get into contact with Drake. Most likely, I would have only been met with the Sickness’s cold, evil demeanor, but I had to try. My attempts were clearly failing.
“Sick, you twisted son of a bitch,” I say under my breath. The frustration and anger is really getting to me. Last week, I had seen Drake up close and personal twice. Once in his hotel room when he admitted, or was forced to admit it by the Sickness, that he was voluntarily giving in to Sick. The second time had been the triple threat with Lost in Time. Somehow, I had escaped that match with the victory. I had gone into Drake’s environment, an inferno match with one side of the ring being wrapped in barbed wire thanks to Drake, and the opposite side being electrified, and won.
The intensity had been brutal. As cliché as the situation was, it was not just about the honor to main event Kamikaze in the Terror Dome match with a chance to earn a World Title shot at Justice; the battle was about me trying to beat some sense into my friend, hoping to free him from Sick’s grasp by weakening the Sickness. The repeated failed calls proved how futile the attempt had been.
Giving up on getting a response to my phone calls, I stood up from the bed with a heavy sigh. The phone is deposited into my pocket as I move to the door of my hotel room, stopping when I notice my appearance in the mirror. A gauze bandage covers the place where Lost in Time bit a chunk of skin from my forehead. Numerous cuts from barbwire etch my face, the pink flesh signals healing wounds and future scars. One runs from two inches under my eye right to the bottom of the lid. I had been incredibly close to having my eye scratched or worse.
This brutal world had become my life. Whether the company on the check was TEW or NEW or any other company I had worked for in my career, I had a knack for finding myself within an inch or less of losing life or limb. Somehow, I had even missed the risk in my basically 2 years away from wrestling. There must be something wrong with me. The crazy devil who is the root of my problems probably has a lot to do with that.
The self-examination continues as I turn and lift my shirt, looking over my shoulder at the painfully numerous reminders of having barbed wire ripping at my flesh. Just below where my t-shirt is rolled up, a line extends across my back, seared into the skin. That reminder of my spear on Lost in Time and contact with the electrified ring ropes causes an involuntary shudder, feeling the way the electricity had felt while coursing through my body.
All of these painful reminders come with the realization the match that gave me these wounds is only a qualifier for Terror Dome. This condition is just the beginning of where my body will be taken in that much. Yet, I have much to do before then.
Allowing my shirt to fall back into face, I turn to face myself again. I have a match this week. My opponent is Scarlet Styles, the wife of NEW Owner Jesse Styles and leader of the newly formed United. Her boxing acumen is more than impressive. The power of the SKO even rivals that of my Zoned Out. Both can strike in an instant and leave the unconscious. No one can say that she is a worthy opponent for a girl. If anyone does, that person is a fool because Scarlet Styles is a worthy opponent period.
It will be nice not to worry about any dirty tricks, monsters, psychopaths, or a combination of the three though. Last week had been Drake. Before that, I had faced Maxwell Soloke, so I had a break there. However, before that, beginning most recently and going back in time, I had faced the 3 other teams including men like Seth Iser, Hazard, Ryan Pugh, and the like in Stable Wars, Hazard, the team of Deathstroke and Brian Hart, and Makeveli. This makes only my third match in NEW without someone of ridiculous stature, psychotic mentality, or evil intent.
Even if this week will be a straightforward, if not incredibly difficult, challenge, I have a point to prove. Momentum is a glorious and damned thing, whether you have it or not. Defeating a former TA champion would be a great way to get things rolling towards Terror Dome. She too will be in that match, so defeating her is doubly important.
With one last moment of staring into my own eyes, I walk out of the hotel room’s door. As I walk down the hall, my thoughts and focus are pulled inward, automatically going through the motions of moving down to lobby via the stairs at the end of the hall.
My journey to Terror Dome is finally officially on the way now that I am in the match for sure. It will begin and end with Scarlet Styles. This match will be a great opportunity to put my mind to the test, learning her tendencies, strengths, and weaknesses in a way that no film can ever show. Physically, it will also prepare me for one part of my match, seeing how I can handle her superb boxing.
Whatever the case for this match, the Zone will have to be my permanent residence for the next few weeks. Heading into Terror Dome, there is no room for relaxation. I will not fail this week or in the coming weeks. Patrick Jones is about to make his mark on NEW. Anyone who gets in my way, and Scarlet will be no exception, will get Zoned Out.
That stupid voice mail message has been my only answer since the match. The repeated failures cause me to mutter, “Fuck,” under my breath as I try to find a way to get into contact with Drake. Most likely, I would have only been met with the Sickness’s cold, evil demeanor, but I had to try. My attempts were clearly failing.
“Sick, you twisted son of a bitch,” I say under my breath. The frustration and anger is really getting to me. Last week, I had seen Drake up close and personal twice. Once in his hotel room when he admitted, or was forced to admit it by the Sickness, that he was voluntarily giving in to Sick. The second time had been the triple threat with Lost in Time. Somehow, I had escaped that match with the victory. I had gone into Drake’s environment, an inferno match with one side of the ring being wrapped in barbed wire thanks to Drake, and the opposite side being electrified, and won.
The intensity had been brutal. As cliché as the situation was, it was not just about the honor to main event Kamikaze in the Terror Dome match with a chance to earn a World Title shot at Justice; the battle was about me trying to beat some sense into my friend, hoping to free him from Sick’s grasp by weakening the Sickness. The repeated failed calls proved how futile the attempt had been.
Giving up on getting a response to my phone calls, I stood up from the bed with a heavy sigh. The phone is deposited into my pocket as I move to the door of my hotel room, stopping when I notice my appearance in the mirror. A gauze bandage covers the place where Lost in Time bit a chunk of skin from my forehead. Numerous cuts from barbwire etch my face, the pink flesh signals healing wounds and future scars. One runs from two inches under my eye right to the bottom of the lid. I had been incredibly close to having my eye scratched or worse.
This brutal world had become my life. Whether the company on the check was TEW or NEW or any other company I had worked for in my career, I had a knack for finding myself within an inch or less of losing life or limb. Somehow, I had even missed the risk in my basically 2 years away from wrestling. There must be something wrong with me. The crazy devil who is the root of my problems probably has a lot to do with that.
The self-examination continues as I turn and lift my shirt, looking over my shoulder at the painfully numerous reminders of having barbed wire ripping at my flesh. Just below where my t-shirt is rolled up, a line extends across my back, seared into the skin. That reminder of my spear on Lost in Time and contact with the electrified ring ropes causes an involuntary shudder, feeling the way the electricity had felt while coursing through my body.
All of these painful reminders come with the realization the match that gave me these wounds is only a qualifier for Terror Dome. This condition is just the beginning of where my body will be taken in that much. Yet, I have much to do before then.
Allowing my shirt to fall back into face, I turn to face myself again. I have a match this week. My opponent is Scarlet Styles, the wife of NEW Owner Jesse Styles and leader of the newly formed United. Her boxing acumen is more than impressive. The power of the SKO even rivals that of my Zoned Out. Both can strike in an instant and leave the unconscious. No one can say that she is a worthy opponent for a girl. If anyone does, that person is a fool because Scarlet Styles is a worthy opponent period.
It will be nice not to worry about any dirty tricks, monsters, psychopaths, or a combination of the three though. Last week had been Drake. Before that, I had faced Maxwell Soloke, so I had a break there. However, before that, beginning most recently and going back in time, I had faced the 3 other teams including men like Seth Iser, Hazard, Ryan Pugh, and the like in Stable Wars, Hazard, the team of Deathstroke and Brian Hart, and Makeveli. This makes only my third match in NEW without someone of ridiculous stature, psychotic mentality, or evil intent.
Even if this week will be a straightforward, if not incredibly difficult, challenge, I have a point to prove. Momentum is a glorious and damned thing, whether you have it or not. Defeating a former TA champion would be a great way to get things rolling towards Terror Dome. She too will be in that match, so defeating her is doubly important.
With one last moment of staring into my own eyes, I walk out of the hotel room’s door. As I walk down the hall, my thoughts and focus are pulled inward, automatically going through the motions of moving down to lobby via the stairs at the end of the hall.
My journey to Terror Dome is finally officially on the way now that I am in the match for sure. It will begin and end with Scarlet Styles. This match will be a great opportunity to put my mind to the test, learning her tendencies, strengths, and weaknesses in a way that no film can ever show. Physically, it will also prepare me for one part of my match, seeing how I can handle her superb boxing.
Whatever the case for this match, the Zone will have to be my permanent residence for the next few weeks. Heading into Terror Dome, there is no room for relaxation. I will not fail this week or in the coming weeks. Patrick Jones is about to make his mark on NEW. Anyone who gets in my way, and Scarlet will be no exception, will get Zoned Out.